Forged in Shadows
by Poeki
Summary: A non RP-based original story based on my character in the SWTOR universe. Canon characters may appear, game story elements likely won't.


Whenever classes were in session the Academy was a very quiet place; lacking the bustle of students going about their tasks, rushing to and from lecture halls laden with tomes, equipment or datapads that rustled, clanged or clattered as they went. Quiet, but not serene. Even when the corridors were full, there was a hush about the place, an oppressiveness of purpose and the stink of fear. There was no laughter, idle chatter was scarce, attendants kept their heads down. But there was life here, usually: furtive, tense, ready to lash out, palms clammy with nervous sweat, heart hammering wildly; life.

In its absence the silence was deafening.

The echo of her steps rang like blasphemy throughout the halls, each footfall a challenge, trailing outrage in its wake. She bared her teeth in response, face a scowling mask as she picked up her pace, let her heavy boots fall noisily on the tiled floors with savage glee. To the pits with silence and restraint! She had somewhere to be and she was not in the habit of being late.

Wide strides took her around the next bend and into a corridor flanked by scarlet-clad guards who seemed unperturbed by her passing. Anger boiled in her belly, at being discounted despite her years of training, her toils and many victories, at being deprived of the weapons she'd earned, at being regarded as lesser to these whelps with their fancy pedigree and fickle hocus-pocus. It took no more than a heartbeat to dissipate. She was no hotheaded youth with skin so thin every insect bite felt like a blade's thrust. She was a seasoned warrior and once her training here was complete, she'd prove her worth on battlefields far grander than any backwater planet's legends.

The classroom door was closed when she arrived. She took a moment to gather herself before tapping in the code that granted her access, authorised her as a participant in this exclusive first meeting. She knew nothing of the Lord who'd requested her presence, but knew enough of Academy practice to guess at the summons' meaning. In truth, she'd been waiting the better part of a year for this, anger growing steadily as she was passed over time and again for younger applicants. Many viewed her age as a detriment, a sign of a difficult pupil, perhaps one slow at picking up the Academy's teachings. The reality was that she was an excellent student and an accomplished combatant to boot, surely a boon for any who chose to take her on. Few had looked beyond the number on her file, however, and none had taken an interest, choosing instead from the more malleable crowd, or a young noble whose family ties promised them new prospects and connections. Shying from a challenge or pandering to the pampered, powdered 'elite'. She snorted with disdain. _Some 'Sith'_.

The door hissed open, revealing one of the smaller classrooms. Desks were stacked near the far wall leaving ample space to manoeuvre. A small selection of chairs was arranged near the front of the room, the only free seat positioned between two youths whose attention immediately snapped towards her considerable bulk occupying the sole exit.

The closest was a Pureblood, clearly of noble upbringing judging by his sneer, the way he held himself and the small fortune in precious metals adorning his facial tendrils and bone ridges. He was young, not quite fully grown, she judged, his frame likely to fill out and become more powerful over the next few months. Until then he'd be all shaky balance and brief bursts of strength lacking control, an opponent quickly dismissed if not for the telltale buzz at the back of her mind she'd come to associate with a strong presence in the Force. She'd remain on her guard around this one, though physically he posed no threat to her.

The human two seats across appeared even less of a concern, lanky limbs folded into the chair at awkward angles, handsome features unmarked. It wasn't until she met his eyes that she adjusted her estimation slightly more in his favour. Within their bright blue depths lurked cunning, wit and the remnant of vanquished pain, a type of wisdom at odds with his youthful exterior. Upon closer inspection she found that his gestures evidenced a familiar grace, an economy of movement that spoke of a hunter's patience, one well accustomed to enduring in harsh environments. She didn't doubt her ability to best him in combat, but she knew enough to not underestimate him, was certain he'd prove to have a number of tricks up his sleeve. Of his strength in the Force she sensed very little, what glimpses she could catch of his potential seemed… contradictory. Either his power was still developing or he was attempting to mask it - badly.

The fourth person in the room had escaped her notice thus far and it wasn't until that unremarkable figure shifted their stance to speak that she realised her mistake: what she had mistaken for another acolyte, a slight, dark-haired girl over a decade her junior, a fragile, full-lipped, wide-eyed beauty she'd sooner expect to find as a Hutt's plaything than here carried one of the deadliest weapons in the known galaxy at her hip, a weapon Aresha had coveted since she'd arrived on this godsforsaken world. This slip of a girl was, in fact, the one who'd summoned them all.

A Lord of the Sith.

* * *

The only thing preventing him from striking down the rude alien for barging in and interrupting their meeting was the fact that it had, finally, put an end to the silent waiting-game they'd been playing for the past twenty minutes. That and the fact that it was no servant or slave, as he'd instinctively assumed, but a fellow acolyte, as designated by the ill-fitting dark robes stretched over its heavily muscled frame. Not that he was one to back down from a confrontation, of course, he was _Sith_, after all - in all but title for now - but if he wanted to get into the good graces of the one who'd summoned them here, it was best to wait and take his cues from her.

He'd done his research, naturally, when he'd first been informed of this meeting a scant few hours ago. Not that it had been particularly difficult in this woman's case, her face had been plastered all over the holonet for months. His hangers-on from among the less senior students, ever eager to curry favour, had brought back a mass of data within moments, informing him of everything from her diet, her choice of wardrobe at various functions to the recent scandal she had been in the midst of.

His dismay at the news had been immeasurable. Here he was, eldest son and heir to House Druvans, a strong line that could trace its origins back many generations and had produced countless Sith, Lords and even some Darths, even if the latter dated a few decades back; a prodigy in his field if the glowing reports of his instructors as relayed to him by his lackeys were any indication; likely the most promising prospect to emerge from his line and - _dare he be so bold?_ - this _entire_ academy _in years_ and the first Lord to take interest in his continued tutelage was some disgraced Darth's concubine, who'd only escaped her Master's ignoble fate by merit of being utterly unimportant in the grand scheme of things, if the papers were to be believed.

To be chosen by one such as her was akin to insult! He'd sent his followers away and called home the moment the initial shame and rage had subsided somewhat, had been horrified to find a lingering stinging at the back of his eyes, at having to struggle for control over his voice as the image of his father materialised over the displayport of his handheld comm-unit.

Rhaxxus hadn't been fooled, of course, the downturn of his mouth and sharp crease of his brow-ridge indicating great displeasure at his son behaving like a blubbering infant. His tone, however, had been soft, gentle almost, sending spasms of terror down Dhexan's spine. His father was not a gentle man.

_"My son, you are not thinking clearly. Consider: How does one become Sith?"_

_"One studies at the Academy to pass one's trials and be chosen as an Apprentice by a higher ranking Sith, 'ari."_

_"Indeed. But you are thinking of the now. Think ahead: How does one become_ a Lord_?"_

Realisation had brought with it blessed relief as the knot in his stomach finally unclenched.

His father had had more to say and he'd been eager to listen, rarely had he been privy to the inner workings of this man's devious mind, rarely had he been part of - let alone been central to - his schemes, rarely had he felt such a sense of belonging. It mattered little whether his father was championing his cause for his own sake or not, another Lord in the family, one promoted at such a young age at that, would elevate their standing among lesser houses considerably, after all. In this instance, Dhexan was more than willing to put family first.

As per their plan, he had shown to the meeting early, hoping to catch the Lady - he could barely even think of her as such - alone and make an impression as the eager, willing student, thrilled to be chosen and summoned into her exalted presence. His scorn and disdain he'd had to swallow, bury deep down until it sat like bitter bile at the pit of his stomach, as it would hardly do to have her guess at his true feelings.

His acting skills had been sorely tested, however, when he'd found that not only did his attempts at making pleasant chit-chat and pry information out of the woman fall flat in light of her stubborn refusal to engage in civilised conversation beyond the barest minimum, but he'd also been beaten to the punch by a scruffy looking human boy, who'd never once yet spoken or stopped staring at the Lady like a moonstruck calf.

Indeed, the interruption by the final member of their group had been a true blessing. Not that the filthy alien deserved any thanks for it. Rather than take further offense at having to keep the company of these rejects and misfits, he resolved to focus on the opportunity presented here: clearly the strongest candidate of the three, with a network of flunkies and lickspittles keen to do his bidding, he should have no issues discrediting his fellow contenders and winning the approval of the Lady for himself. He'd be subtle about it, of course, openly undermining their tutor's choices - poor as they may be - would likely only serve to antagonise her.

_Yes_, he thought as he turned back towards the woman at the front of the room, watched her welcome the newcomer and bid it sit without so much as a frown to admonish its tardiness, _best to let this one think herself in charge for as long as possible, all the better when the time arrives if she never sees it coming._


End file.
